


With My Gods Shall I Die

by Gattoartico



Series: Gatto’s Oneshot Shop of Horrors [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Welsh Mythology
Genre: Gen, I certainly don’t, I promise I know what I’m doing, I totally didn’t write this an hour after the other one, Limbo, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mythology - Freeform, Somewhat, Will I write more in this verse?, Ychydig Meistr verse, both our god bois give off hella eldritch vibes, but only hinted at, probably, use of other languages, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29228475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gattoartico/pseuds/Gattoartico
Summary: Harry has entered the Forbidden Forest. His death is at hand and he knows what must be done.
Series: Gatto’s Oneshot Shop of Horrors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145099
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Harry Potter Fanfic Must Reads





	With My Gods Shall I Die

The snitch softly clicked open. Within, nestled atop silk bedding lay the mythic Resurrection Stone. It’s night black sides emblazoned with the sign of the Hallows in a shade of the deepest darkness. The jagged crack the sword of Gryffindor had left on it had the faintest wisps of green light drifting from within it. Harry gently picked up the stone, letting it rest upon his palm. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and turned the stone three times.

Silence.

He opened his eyes to be greeted by the faces of those he missed the most. His Mum and his Da stood to his right, while Sirius and Remus stood to his left. He smiled at the four, silent tears streaked down his face. He looked in front of himself and found two more faces that he did not expect but was not surprised to see. Standing next to his parents was something. Though it wore a human shape he knew something else called that form home. It appeared as a young man, copper hair and eyes blazing with green fire, a smile on Its face that seemed too wide, too sharp. While next to his godfathers stood another. Its hellishly orange eyes watched him, too many teeth in that impossibly large mouth. Neither of these things had ever been human he knew. Neither had ever lived as men, neither belonged on this plane. 

“What will you do next?” The orange eyed being asked, Its voice comprised of sounds both impossible and natural. The roar of a dog, the drag of a bird’s wing, the rustle of leaves in the wind.

“You know what awaits you in that hollow.” The other spoke. Eyes of green burning brighter than the noonday sun. Its voice as unnatural as Its fellow. The splash of blood on pavement, the thud of a club on flesh, the sound of teeth tearing into meat.

Harry breathed in deep and let the air leave his lungs, “I go to my death. He won’t let me walk away from this.”

The first blinked, “A truth even we do not defy.” A crack of a whip, the crunch of stone falling onto a body, the stroke of a heartless pen.

“Are you prepared for it?” the second asked, a tightening of armor fastenings, the click of chambers being loaded, the hiss of pistons.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked, glancing at Sirius.

The older man smiled sadly. His grey eyes warm but quiet. “Quicker than falling asleep.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Until the very end.” His mother responded.

“They won’t see you?” 

His father shook his head no. He took another deep breath and started walking forward. He let the stone slide from between his fingers and fall to the dirt. His parents and godfathers vanished but the other two remained. As he walked they fell into step with him, their presence both a comfort and a curse. He could feel the unnaturalness of them, how much the world rebelled at them, tried to expel them from its skin. Yet still the two walked at his side.

“It is quiet.” A scream of despair, a wailing of a child, the trill of trumpets. The green eyed one spoke. 

“As are all moments such as this.” The whispered prayers of the dying, the last breath of life, a silent plea.

Harry pulled his father’s cloak over himself as he kept walking. “Arawn, don’t you have souls to shepherd or something?”

Arawn tilted Its head to the side and watched him. Its orange eyes curious. “I can make exceptions for one such as you.” The roar of a lion, a butterfly’s wingbeat, a spider’s cough.

“The end of a saga is nigh.” The clap of thunder, the whistle of a madman, the creak of shifting leather. “What would we be to miss such an event?” The shrill sound of a teapot, the clack of teeth, a drop of rain falling.

“You wouldn’t be saying cryptic things as I’m walking to my death Amatheon. That’s what you would be.” Harry said, his voice quieted to a whisper as he spotted death eaters roaming the woods. He followed two that were heading towards where Aragog’s nest once was. A few minutes in silence they walked. Soon they entered the hollow, ringed in death eaters, Hagrid bound in the back. Upon a raised dais of stone stood Voldemort, pale and serpentine. His blood red eyes watched the entrance with ill disguised excitement.

“There was no sign of him My Lord.” A death eater said as he knelt. Disappointment filled Voldemort’s face, his expression fell and his eyes dimmed.

“I thought he would come.” He said, his voice colored with his emotions. He began to turn when movement caught his eye. He looked again. Harry had shrugged off the cloak and now stood in the center of the Death Eaters. A spark of light in Voldemort’s eye, happiness perhaps? “Ahh Harry Potter, the boy who lived to die.”

Harry stood silent as he watched the Dark Lord stride closer to him, as his enemy since he was a mere babe stood not even three meters from him. Two lifelong enemies, at the cumulation of their struggle at last. 

Amatheon stepped closer to Harry as It whispered in his ear, “The End of a Saga.” the crackle of fire, the plea of a dying man, the silence of a nothing.

“Any last words Potter? Will you plead for your life?” Voldemort asked, a hint of something in his voice. Harry shook his head no and the Dark Lord sighed. “So be it then, Avada Kedavra!” A bolt of green light as Harry Potter slowly fell to the ground. 

~~

A blink of his eyes. 

White.

He looked again.

Still white.

He sat up and scanned his surroundings. Everything was white, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Everything. He rose to his feet and realized he was wearing only a white robe, his glasses missing but his sight unhindered. He startled when he realized he could hear what sounded like an infant’s wail. The sound led him over to a bench, that caused the rest of this strange place to take the form of a bleached Kings Cross. He knelt and looked under the bench to find something horrific. A malformed infant, its skin missing, nothing but exposed muscles.

“You can not help it.” The snap of twigs, the finality of loss, the brush of leather on steel. 

Harry turned and found two others with him. Arawn and Amatheon. Both stood there, their feeling of wrongness gone. “Am I dead?” He asked.

“Not quite Ychydig Meistr.” Arawn said, the low crackle of embers, the echo of a cavernous room, the shifting of settling stones.

“Death is not so final for you. Not here where choices are made. Where legends are born or defeated.” The sound of a horn, the clash of swords, the singing of a bard.

Harry stood and looked back at the thing under the bench. “Is that a piece of Voldemort?”

“A fragment of a ruined soul. It will wait for the final shards in this place. Then I will guide it on.” Amatheon said, the silence of a fresh grave, the clamour of a crowded street, ash drifting on the wind. It stepped forward and knelt. It took the horcrux of Voldemort into Its arms and stood, gently cooing at the shard.

Harry watched and felt something monumental about this moment but could not figure what. “You said this is a place of choices. What choices do I even have?”

“The choice to move on.” Arawn stated, the rattle of train tracks, the creaking of wagon wheels, of a man walking on. 

“The choice to go back.” Amaetheon said, the opening of a door, a mother's excited hello, a siblings’ complaint.

“I can decide?”

“Always.” A final bell, children playing, a bird chirping.

“My friends need me. I can’t leave them to this fight alone, not while Voldemort’s still alive.” Harry said, determination taking root.

“Then take the train Ychydig Meistr.” Arawn said, the rumble of an avalanche, the roar of a volcano, the crack of thunder. It pointed at a train that had not been there before. A word written on it in Welsh. Siŵr O Adref. Homeward Bound.

Harry voiced his thanks as he stepped aboard. Looking back he saw the two beings watching him, their forms blurring slightly. For a moment his eyes _burned_ , swirling maelstroms of green and orange blazed in their place, unfathomable depths bleeding power. He blinked and the flames were gone. “Was any of this real? Or is it all just in my head?”

“Why should that make it any less real? Reality is subjective to those on high. Reality is subjective to you Ychydig Meistr.” Both spoke as one, their voices blending together, a train whistle, water rushing down stone, planets turning.

The train lurched forward and Harry woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely did not write this right after “To Mine Own Death Do I Walk” absolutely not. 
> 
> Okay maybe I did. 
> 
> Shhhhhh.
> 
> Outside of that I used Welsh mythology and language to my own amusement because I am sad. Uhh not much else to say I don’t think.
> 
> Oh! Welsh translations!
> 
> Siŵr O Adref: Homeward Bound  
> Ychydig Meistr: Little Master


End file.
